


The Memory of War

by lindsayqt



Series: The Memories (E/R Giver AU) [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, I love e/r, I mean sort of, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 18:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1868250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsayqt/pseuds/lindsayqt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A beautifully tragic "The Giver" AU. Don't kill me please. Enj is the Giver, R is Rosemary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Memory of War

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first e/r thing. Panic/panic attack tw, (just in case) also I am not responsible for any crying that might occur after reading this. It's gonna be like 4 lil snapshots, I'm physically incapable of writing long fics.

Some days, R came to the Giver's dwelling expecting to proceed with training, but was greeted by a distressed Enjolras, rocking back and forth, head in his hands, managing to croak “Come back tomorrow.” R did as he was told, although some days he wished he could help the Giver in some way.

Today was one of those days. The Giver really needed some help.

“Please…take some…” he coughed mid-sentence. “Please take some of the pain.” R nodded, and shut the door behind him before removing his tunic and lying down next to the Giver. Gently, he took the Giver’s hand and placed it on his back, as the older man was too agonized to do so himself.

R was brought into a world he hadn’t seen before - war, the word was - was ravaging what must have been left of a community. Everything was on fire. People were running around wildly, and Grantaire started to panic. Was this the responsibility of the Giver, keeping all these memories? There is no way R could handle this on his own someday…

His breathing quickened, as he saw small objects, about the size of Taire’s fingernail, flying through the air at speeds faster than he ever imagined. And when someone got in the way of one of the objects - bullets, the word was, there was blood. Lots of it. Seconds later, the person was on the ground, not moving.

Was this really how things were in the past? What happened to the people that were on the ground? Did they get burned up? What happened after that? Suddenly, R was back in the Giver’s dwelling, lying on the ground, shaking.

Stunned, he slowly stood up, first examining his arms to make sure he was real. By the time he had the courage to look back at the Giver, Enjolras was frozen, staring at the ground.

R was shaking, and he gently touched the Giver’s hand.

“Are you okay, sir?” Grantaire’s voice was smaller and shakier than he imagined.

Enjolras, who R noticed, was trying to catch his breath as well, whispered, “Forgive me.”

They sat there for a moment in silence. R noticed that he had not yet taken his hand off the Giver’s, and their fingers were intertwined. He dared not move. 

“Giver?” he asked slowly.

“Yes?” Enjolras raised his eyebrows in preparation for the question.

“When people were hit by the…bullets…” he used the new word, “what happened to them? Once they were lying on the ground?”

Enjolras looked troubled. 

“Death.” he stated, matter-of-factly, as if he was reading off an item on a grocery list.

Grantaire wanted desperately to know what death was, but he suspected that that was enough questions for the day.

Instead, he simply sat in silence with the Giver, to give them both time to calm down.


End file.
